After the Storm
by Aedemiel
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley enjoy a nice lunch at the Ritz until they don't.


"You have to try this," Crowley said, cutting off a piece of his cake with a fork and offering it to Aziraphale. "It's divine."

He was smirking at his own joke, as usual, but the cake did look good and Crowley's taste, at least where food was concerned, could not be faulted. Aziraphale paused for a second and then leaned forward slightly to take the offered morsel. The demon had been right, light and fluffy with rich flavors of coffee, chocolate, and cream, it was one of the best desserts he'd ever tasted. An inadvertent moan of pleasure escaped as he swallowed.

"Now I know what your O face looks like!" Crowley was laughing with glee, his head thrown back to reveal the length of his throat. Aziraphale swallowed and glanced furtively at the other diners. Many of them were staring openly.

"This is the Ritz for God's sake. Keep the noise down. People are looking at us."

"Let them look," Crowley said, unconcerned. He was grinning at Aziraphale, one eyebrow cocked. Aziraphale knew that expression; he was being mocked. "Come on, take another bite."

The demon was holding out another forkful of cake. It was tempting but Aziraphale refused to be ridiculed any further. He shook his head.

"No. I'm not interested in being the butt of your jokes."

An indecipherable look flickered across Crowley's face. "I'm not making fun of you."

"Yes, you are," Aziraphale huffed indignantly. Crowley still had his arm extended, the delicious mouthful within his reach. He moved to push the demon's arm away but Crowley had anticipated him and whipped the fork away. He popped into his own mouth and groaned with pleasure.

"Will you stop that?" Aziraphale could see the scandalized looks on the faces of a couple sat close by. "What are you doing?"

Crowley barked out another laugh and pointed at himself. "This is _my _O face, see!"

"That's enough," Aziraphale said primly. "You are making a spectacle of yourself." He signaled to a waiter to bring the bill.

"Oh, come on," Crowley drawled. "I've waited millennia to see that look on your face. Let me enjoy it for at least a moment."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aziraphale said fussily, arranging his fork neatly on his plate and folding his napkin nicely. The waiter came over with a small folder, Aziraphale carefully placed some money inside and stood up. Without even a glance at Crowley, he turned and walked out of the restaurant, trying to ignore the blatant curiosity of other people as he walked by.

Outside, he dodged the crowds hustling along Piccadilly. _Tourists _, he sighed inwardly. Green Park Underground station wasn't far but he wasn't sure he could cope with the tube right now. He was too irritated with Crowley for spoiling a perfectly good lunch with his jeering. He headed back to the park, hoping a pleasant walk among the trees might soothe his nerves.

"Wait!"

Aziraphale heard Crowley's voice behind him. He kept walking, ignoring the demon's plea. It sounded like Crowley was running, heavy steps pounding on the ground. He'd catch up soon enough. Aziraphale took a deep breath and stopped, although he didn't turn around.

"I'm sorry," Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale whirled around to glare at him, expecting more taunting but the demon's face was regretful, serious. He frowned in suspicion.

"I've never heard you apologize in six thousand years," Aziraphale told him stiffly. "I'm not interested in whatever game you are playing."

"Not playing," Crowley said, still a little out of breath from running. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Aziraphale was tired. It had been a long few days and Crowley was beginning to get on his nerves. "Apology accepted," he said, his back ramrod straight. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my shop."

"Fuck," Crowley said. His eyes were shaded as always with those peculiar goggle-like sunglasses but Aziraphale had the uncomfortable feeling Crowley was looking him up and down. The angel was perplexed. It seemed an odd reaction to his declared intent to go home.

"Right, well, I'll be off then," he stuttered. He stepped away from Crowley and started walking again. He wasn't really paying attention to where he was going, he just knew he had to get away from the demon before he said something he'd regret later. _I_ _should be more forgiving_, he thought,_ I just don't have the energy right now_. But he couldn't help looking over his shoulder as he left. Crowley was gone.

* * *

When he arrived back at his bookshop, Crowley was lounging against the door, watching passersby with a contemptuous look on his face. Aziraphale had long since gotten over their tiff, forgiveness _was_ in his nature after all, but he was a bit startled to see the demon waiting for him.

"Hey," Crowley said casually as the angel approached.

Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

Crowley pouted, a curious expression for him. "Waiting for you."

Aziraphale couldn't suppress a sigh. "It's all right. I forgive you." He unlocked the door, frowning as Crowley loomed over him. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"I'd prefer something stronger," Crowley said lazily.

"Well, there's cognac I suppose," Aziraphale said after a moment. They'd already consumed two bottles of wine so he could hardly object to daytime drinking now. Crowley grinned at him in approval and flopped untidily onto the leather couch Aziraphale kept at the back of the shop.

Aziraphale opened the small cabinet where he kept a few bottles of finely curated spirits. The cognac was at the back and as he reached inside to grab it, the other bottles jostled against each other with a tinkling sound.

"What else have you got in there?" Crowley asked, his tone bored but it seemed affected and unconvincing. Aziraphale found himself wondering what had gotten into his old friend._ Old friend. His only friend, really. _That made him feel rather sad. _It isn't as though our relationship is all that amicable. We bicker like an old married couple most of the time. _

That thought brought him upright with a start and he banged his head on the underside of the cabinet, yelping in pain.

"Are you all right?" Crowley asked sharply. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, nothing," Aziraphale stammered, trying to appear normal and failing miserably.

Crowley quirked an eyebrow at him, but let it pass without comment. Glad that the demon held his tongue for once, Aziraphale poured the cognac into two crystal snifters and brought them over, noting the demon's feet propped up on the elegant inlaid Morrocan coffee table he'd picked up a century or so ago. Crowley idly held one hand out and Aziraphale gave the glass to him, irritated at his manner.

He only had a few options for seating. There was a lovely old leather wingback chair that he used for reading by the tiny fireplace but it faced away from the couch and was too heavy to move easily. He could sit at the secretaire, but that chair was not very comfortable. Or there was space on the couch next to Crowley. Not much space admittedly because of the way the demon was sprawled out, but enough.

Trembling for reasons he couldn't determine, he sat gingerly on the sofa, trying to sit as far from the demon as possible without actually making it seem that way. Crowley inhaled as though he might say something, but whatever he was planning to say never came. Instead, he took off his sunglasses and eyed Aziraphale in a way that made him most uncomfortable.

The silence stretched out between them and finally it goaded Aziraphale into speaking. "Why are you here, really?" he asked.

"What? Can't a fellow visit a friend without there being a specific reason?" Crowley said. He was playing it cool but couldn't keep Aziraphale from hearing the guarded tone in his voice. _What the… What on earth's going on with Crowley today? _

"We are not-" Aziraphale started to say and then stopped.

"We're not friends?" Crowley asked softly.

"No, I mean, yes," Aziraphale floundered.

"I see," Crowley said, the artifice sliding smoothly back into place. Aziraphale hadn't even noticed it was gone until it had returned. Crowley stood up, downed the last of his cognac and dropped the glass carelessly on the table. He picked up his sunglasses. "See you around."

"Stop," Aziraphale said unhappily. "It's been a long day. Of course we're friends. It's just…" He trailed off. "Old habits die hard?"

"I suppose," Crowley said, dropping back onto the couch. He didn't say anything else, just watched Aziraphale with those strange, slitted eyes that were more familiar to him than anything else in the world.

"Hastur's back topside," Crowley said after another extended silence.

"Has he said anything to you?" Aziraphale asked, glad to be off the topic of their relationship.

"Haven't even seen him," Crowley shrugged. "Heard it through the grapevine."

"I didn't know you still had a grapevine," Aziraphale said in surprise. "Nobody in Heaven is even talking to me. Thankfully."

"There are some minor demons who are still willing to pass on information, now and again. Hastur is a pain in the ass, even the other demons don't like him. So the story of how I bested him makes me popular in certain quarters."

"How _we _bested him," Aziraphale reminded him.

There was that grin again. "Right. _We _." Crowley shifted, as though getting more comfortable but it somehow put him closer to Aziraphale. The smile faded and he tilted his head back to look around the store and swallowed, his face shadowed.

"I thought you were dead," he said, his voice catching a little.

"Inconveniently discorporated," Aziraphale corrected him. But the demon's swerve back into things better left alone unnerved him. Crowley sounded distressed. Crowley was never distressed. Angry, sure. Scared, occasionally. Irritated, annoyed, frustrated, all of those things. But never distressed. Aziraphale didn't know what that meant.

"I didn't know that at the time," Crowley said. "The whole place was ablaze and there was no sign of you. How was I to know the fire hadn't started as Hellfire?" He had wrapped his arms around his body, hugging himself but was still facing away, not looking at Aziraphale.

"I... uh..."

Crowley inhaled and exhaled slowly and slowly returned to his normal slouching position. His gaze flicked to the angel and away again. He blinked once, twice and then reached for his sunglasses once more. "I'd better be off," Crowley said, his tone carefully indifferent as he placed them on his face.

_They're like armor, _Aziraphale thought.

"It's late," he replied lamely. "You'll never get a cab at this time of night."

Crowley shrugged. "I'll figure it out."

"Stay here." Aziraphale couldn't quite believe those words had come out of his mouth. Crowley stared at him, arrested. "You can sleep in my bed." Crowley's mouth dropped open and he realized how that sounded.

"I can sleep here, on the couch," the angel clarified. "I often do when I'm up late reading."

"I dunno," Crowley said, watching Aziraphale closely. The sunglasses had come off again and those yellow eyes were fixed on the angel's. "Doesn't seem right, kicking you out of your own bed."

"Since when have you worried about what's right?" Aziraphale said with an affectionate smile.

Crowley slid back onto the couch, moving so close to Aziraphale that the angel could feel his breath against his face.

"Never," he said and cupped Aziraphale's face with his hands. "Not even once." And then he dipped his head and brushed his mouth gently across Aziraphale's lips.

"What are you doing?" Aziraphale breathed. He was quivering, confused and yet yearning for the demon to kiss him again.

"Something I should have done a long time ago," Crowley said. "Bit of a cliche, but there it is." He tugged Aziraphale closer for a deeper kiss before giving him a dark smile, full of wickedness and promise. "I think I will sleep in your bed after all."


End file.
